


the sky from the earth is our point of view

by smokesque



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Fic Exchange, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Angst, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, One Shot, Sibling dynamic, Trans Lance (Voltron), platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/smokesque
Summary: pidge hates lance for all the wrong reasons and lance is not the asshole in this equation.(or; pidge is the embodiment of inaccurate judgments and this is the story of how they discover their best friend)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gleefreak97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleefreak97/gifts).



> this was written to fulfill the prompt of lance and pidge with a sibling dynamic, going through the same thing. i had a lot of fun exploring the development of their friendship and i had plans for more post-garrison bonding but time got away from me. still, i hope you enjoy this piece and thank you for the excellent prompts!!
> 
> title taken from ['saviour'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-bhGI5RErQ) by lij gilmour
> 
> [don't read as romantic pl//an//ce]

Friendly banter does not bother Pidge. It doesn’t so much as ruffle their feathers (metaphorically speaking, if they had feathers). They make sarcastic comments and spit jokes out at others’ expense. But there is something about that Lance kid that rubs Pidge in all the wrong ways.

He talks like he sees right through everyone and walks around like he’s hot shit – like he knows exactly how to fit in and it pushes all of Pidge’s buttons. Hunk says it’s misguided anger. It isn’t _Lance’s_ fault that Pidge feels so out of place but, misguided or not, Pidge can’t help wanting to break Lance’s arm.

Pidge isn’t sure how they ended up being convinced to spend downtime in the Rec Room, squashed onto a couch the colour of the peas their dad loves, except that progress on infiltrating the Garrison’s top secret files has been slow-going and they need a break. Hunk is beside them, pressing them into the arm of the couch by no fault of his own, and Pidge feels a little more comfortable in the sweat-and-chatter-filled room with a friend by their side. Lance waltzes over, drink clutched in his hand and loud words tossed over his shoulder at someone Pidge doesn’t recognise. He trips over thin air as he nears Pidge and Hunk, landing heavily on the coffee table and somehow managing to look as though he intended to sit there all along.

“Hey guys. How come you’re holed up over here in the corner? Pidge, don’t you want to meet the others?”

Everything Lance says is far too loud and far too intrusive. Pidge leans back, trying to catch some air before they start choking on absolutely nothing.

“This is Pidge’s first time hanging out here. I think they just want to take it easy, y’know?”

And god bless Hunk for being the friend that he is. Pidge could cry from the relief of having the spotlight taken off them.

“Yeah, I get it. You do you,” Lance says, already three feet away from them like he was done with the conversation before it even started. Pidge turns to thank Hunk as the rest of the attendees move in a wave towards the kitchenette on one side of the room (for god knows what reason) and the world tilts back on its axis into a position that is ultimately more comfortable for Pidge.

And just like that the balance is disrupted once more.

It’s a halt in his steps, a twist of his shoulder, a tilt of his chin, a parting of his lips – and Lance breaks down Pidge’s walls with a single sentence.

“Did you say ‘they’?”

Pidge swears their heart has clawed up their throat, scrambled their brain and taken up residence as a constant thump in their ears. The chatter filling the Rec Room is suddenly muffled and – if it was uncomfortably loud before – it’s even more disconcerting in the sudden silence.

“Well yeah, because that’s what Pidge–” Hunk cuts himself off in surprise, turning to Pidge with wide eyes. A belated “prefers.” escapes his lips to finish the sentence.

It’s that moment when the exhaustion catches up to Pidge – weeks of skipping sleep to break into offices, search for disruptions in the electromagnetic wavelengths, research what they can about the mysterious _Voltron_ – and they can’t imagine having the capacity to do anything except collapse on the stupidly tiny couch beneath them and pass out for at least three days. Having this conversation with Lance is the last thing on their list of what they have the energy to be capable of.

Pidge can almost see the gears turning behind Lance’s confused eyes clear enough to count them.

 _One_.

He steps closer, tipping his head to the left as his eyebrows furrow.

 _Two_.

He sucks one side of his cheek between his teeth and appraises Pidge with a look that shakes the (barely present) comfort out of their skin.

 _Three_.

And the switch flicks.

“You’re… not cis.”

Pidge almost has to give him credit for knowing the word. (They were expecting to have to indulge in a lot more explanation.) But anger boils from their exhaustion and they don’t realise their nails are digging into the palms of their hands until their fingers go numb. They can’t remember how to open their mouth without punching something.

“You could have told me.” His voice is small, like he’s scared, offended almost. It’s laughable how Lance assumes it’s his God-given right to know Pidge’s gender, as if Pidge being in the closet is a personal offense. Pidge could scream.

“Right, because it’s entirely your business, isn’t it? Because you’re _exactly_ the kind of person who would understand, aren’t you? Sorry for not realising all your strutting about and big-headed talk was meant to be approachable.”

Hunk looks like he wants to butt in, placate them with hands on their shoulders and gentle nudges in the direction of _kiss and make up_. Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut when Lance opens his own.

“I didn’t think-”

“I know you didn’t, Lance,” Pidge hisses, their mind short-circuiting and forcing furious words out of their mouth before they have time to bite their tongue. “You never do. That’s the problem.”

It isn’t fair to put it all Lance. He’s right; he _didn’t_ think because he didn’t need to, but _god_ he’s oblivious sometimes and the anger rises in Pidge’s chest until they can’t bear the burn at the back of their throat and they let it roll off their tongue like flames, lashing at Lance’s outstretched hands until he cringes back away from the danger.

“If you would just stop and think for once in your life, we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’re such an idiot, Lance – an idiot! I never told you because I _knew_ you’d make fun of me. I knew it! So go ahead – prove me right, why don’t you?”

Lance says nothing in return. His eyes are too wide for his face, watery and unblinking. His arms are bent up at the elbows so his hands hang uselessly in front of his chest and his lips part as though he wants to speak. Nothing comes out. Pidge is struck with the inappropriate urge to laugh.

“Yeah, well, this _would_ be the one moment you decide to shut up.”

Pidge ignores the way Hunk reaches out to them, opting to shove violently past Lance instead. Their hands find their way to the familiar straps of their backpack, clinging tightly like it's the only thing keeping them together.

And at this point, it just might be.

\---

When Pidge attempts to make an early escape the next morning, the last thing they expect to find is an exhausted student dozing against the wall, legs outstretched across the corridor. In fact, Pidge nearly trips over a foot in their haste to leave the dorm.

“Lance! Lance, what the fuck are you doing?” Pidge hisses, tapping their toe angrily against the foot that almost sent them flying moments before.

“Wha- Pidge!” Lance slips as he wakes up with a jolt, barely catching himself before he collapses on the ground. He looks as though he has a crick in his neck, from the way he holds his head, and he brings his hands up to massage his lower back. He’s probably stiff from spending the night leant up against the wall.

 _Serves him right_ , Pidge thinks viciously. They kick at his shin in frustration, an attempt to get him to move his legs out of the way of anyone passing by. They achieve nothing with the assault and Lance bats them away sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand. He stumbles to his feet, flattening himself against the wall just to stay upright.

“We need to talk, Pidge.”

He says it like he's some kind of authority. Like Lance has _any_ right to suggest what Pidge does or doesn’t need to do.

“I don’t think so, Casanova.” For the second time in twenty four hours Pidge shoves their way past Lance, forcing him further against the wall as they walk. It’s been a long month and Pidge is just _tired_. (Of what, they don’t know, but it’s a kind of exhaustion they’ve never experienced before. _Bone-weary_ is the term that comes to their mind.) They don’t have the energy for Lance’s useless shenanigans so they head for the only place in the space station that makes them feel like they can breathe.

The roof.

The sound of their sneakers slapping against the floor as they race through the empty corridors is the only comfort they’ve ever needed. Screw Lance and his insurmountable confidence. Who _cares_. Pidge doesn’t.

Except they do care, when Lance trails them up to the roof and sits cross-legged beside them without even being invited. It isn’t Pidge’s personal roof but somehow they’re still offended, as if Lance had kicked his shoes off at their front door and swung his legs onto the coffee table without pausing for permission. It irks them in a way they can’t articulate – like they can feel it in the tips of their fingers and the pit of their stomach but never close enough to stab at.

So they let it simmer just below the surface and somehow Lance can’t feel the heat radiating from them or read the warning signs they are projecting with every fibre of their being. He appears engrossed in something on the horizon and remains oblivious to how unwelcome his presence is. Either that or he just couldn’t care less.

Pidge is willing to bet their left arm that it’s the latter.

“You know, I would never do that,” Lance says out of the blue and Pidge is momentarily at a loss as to whether they should respond. It sounds as though he isn't even talking to them, as though he has transcended to another realm and is merely speaking his thoughts aloud.

“Do what?” Pidge is cautious with their words, the sort of approach one takes to a baby lamb when helping it to take its first steps.

“Make fun of your gender. Like joke about it or whatever. I’d never do that, Pidge.”

It sounds so sincere that Pidge almost feels bad for snapping at him earlier. Maybe he really didn’t deserve it.

“I know how much that sucks. Misgendering, I mean. I wouldn’t- I know I’m an asshole but not about this, okay? Never about this.”

There’s something about the way his voice catches as he speaks that makes the anger in Pidge’s stomach boil down into guilt. It flows across their skin, like being doused in freezing water, until they can’t remember why they were angry in the first place. They lean over to softly bump Lance’s shoulder with theirs, offering a small smile when he finally turns away from the horizon to look at them.

“You’re not that much of an asshole, you know. I exaggerate a lot.”

The smile Lance sends them in return is like a hot shower washing away the guilt that’s built up like dirt. Pidge relishes in the warmth bleeding out of Lance’s grin and lightening the mood.

“What did you mean, though? About knowing how much that sucks?” Pidge is tentative to ask, not wanting to strip Lance’s smile off his face with the question.

“Oh, you know how families are,” Lance says, waving dismissively like it’s nothing. Pidge can tell it’s definitely something – something that makes his movements jerky, his words too heavy on Pidge’s ears. “My parents still want to tell me I’m a girl, I guess.”

That stops Pidge short. The realisation just about knocks the breath out of them when it hits. Lance is not the asshole. _Pidge is_.

“You- You’re trans? Holy shit Lance, I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.”

The apology is a weight on their tongue and the guilt ebbs back across their skin. All the time they spent hating Lance for things he hadn’t done seems so futile now. Hunk was right all along. They _should_ have trusted him.

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m glad that no one notices. Only Hunk knows anyway so don’t beat yourself up about it,” Lance says and Pidge doesn’t think they deserve that kind of forgiveness. They don’t know enough words to be able to tell Lance how wrong their judgement of him was, so they settle for leaning their head on his shoulder instead. Pidge thinks there will probably be a lot of discussion to come later but right now, they are content to watch the horizon that Lance is still overly-fascinated in and pretend this isn’t the longest they’ve gone without having a spat.

Being friends with Lance is easier than hating him

\---

A year later when Pidge tries to tell the Voltron team that they’re nonbinary and the words come out all jumbled and wrong, it’s Lance who sits at the end of their bed and rubs their shin. It’s Lance who lets them punch pillows until their anger fizzles down to a dull burn in the pit of their stomach, but catches their wrist gently when their fist makes a beeline for the wall. It’s Lance who tells them that coming out takes time; that they’ll get there eventually; that whenever they’re ready he’s at their back.

It’s Lance who corners Keith after a particularly brash statement about whether or not Pidge is male-passing, who walks in the next morning with split knuckles in the pattern of the bruise that paints Keith’s cheek, who smiles at Pidge like it’s nothing – like anyone would have done the same.

And despite everything that’s happened, despite how rocky their friendship once was, it’s Lance who makes the paladins feel more like a family than anyone Pidge has known in two years.


End file.
